Bravo, Tango, Cowboy. Joanna WayneЧитать онлайн книгу.
except…homier. Yep, that was the word he was looking for. The kind of house where a man could get comfortable with a good book—or a hot woman.
“I was going for rustic, but high-tech with modern comforts,” she explained.
He gave the room a quick once-over. The walls were painted to look as if they were old stucco, with dents and nicks, in shades of a deep cream and pale tan. The chandelier looked as if it had once been used with gas. The mantel over the fireplace was thick, rough-hewn cypress, as were the high beams in the ceiling.
The wide wooden planks of the floor looked to be original to the house, but they were polished and partially covered by a woven rug that picked up the brown in the leather sofa. Two cane-covered rockers sat next to the fireplace.
“Looks like an authentic ranch house to me,” he said. “And the sofa is definitely comfortable.”
“Thanks. When my husband inherited the place, it was literally crumbling. We practically had to gut it.”
“Then this is new construction?”
“All but the shell.”
“Then you are good.” The question was why would she go to all this trouble to live in Dobbin? “Do you have family in the area?”
“No.”
“So how did you wind up here?”
Wrong question. He sensed as much as saw the instant change in her. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, as if the room had suddenly dropped ten degrees, and then lowered her eyes to stare into her cup.
“My husband’s uncle left him the ranch,” she finally said. “Todd loved the place and always planned to retire here.”
No mention as to how she felt about the house, yet her husband was dead and she’d stayed on. Must have been crazy about the man. Probably had him on a pedestal too high for any other man to ever climb.
“Do you want to see what I’ve done with the rest of the house?”
“Sure, as long as there won’t be a test of my knowledge of the subject matter when we finish.”
“No, but I can’t promise not to bore you with details.”
“You do and I’ll start reciting the military handbook.”
“Warning taken. Do you want to show Mr. Taylor your room, Brandon?”
The kid scrunched his nose and planted his dinosaur on top of his head, tangling the toy in the dark locks of hair. “No. Want to watch cartoons.”
“Okay, but when I say it’s bedtime, you have to turn off the TV without making a fuss.”
He grinned as he hopped off the sofa and ran to retrieve a DVD from a basket on the bottom section of the built-in shelves. He inserted it into a player set between two stacks of children’s books.
Hawk had yet to spot a TV. Alonsa picked up a remote, clicked it and then waited while the oil painting over the pine bookshelves slid away to reveal a flat-screen monitor.
“Impressive.”
She smiled. It lit her face and softened all her features. “Actually, the hidden TV is a bit of overkill, but it impresses potential clients.”
“Then you work out of your home?”
“As much as I can. I don’t like to spend any more time away from Brandon than I have to.”
She went to the front door and checked the dead bolt, though he’d seen her lock it when she came in. “This way,” she said, pausing to look out the window before she led him into the hallway.
Carne followed them. The intuitive dog definitely didn’t trust Hawk with his mistress. Smart dog.
The kitchen was obviously Alonsa’s masterpiece. She reveled in the explanation of how she’d sought to create a totally modern working arena without losing any of the ranch-house charm.
She’d done a bang-up job, right down to the red-and-white gingham curtains at the window and the appliances that were disguised as knotty pine cabinets. The awkwardness between them dropped away in layers as her enthusiasm built.
The kitchen phone rang. She grabbed the antique receiver. “It’s probably Linney or Esteban making sure Brandon is okay.” She put the receiver to her ear. Her hello was tentative.
A heartbeat later, her face turned a pasty white and her fingers trembled so badly the phone slipped from them. She swayed. Hawk caught her and the phone before either of them hit the floor.
She shook off the shock and grabbed the phone from him. “Lucy? Lucy, is that you?” Her voice bordered on hysteria.
Hawk shifted so that his ear was close enough for him to hear a reply—had there been one. There was only the clanging of a receiver and the droll signal of a disconnected call.
Tears filled Alonsa’s eyes.
His reaction system went on full alert. “Who was that?”
She looked away, avoiding eye contact. “No one.”
“Like hell.”
“It’s nothing really.”
“You’re a wreck. If you tell me what’s going on, I might be able to help.”
“No one can help. Please, just go home, Hawk. Just go.”
“Who’s Lucy?”
“This isn’t your concern.” Her voice dropped to a shaky whisper.
Right. And he didn’t need a strange woman’s problems. So why wasn’t he rushing out the door?
He took both her hands in his and waited until her gaze locked with his. “Who’s Lucy?”
“My daughter. She was abducted two years ago.”
Chapter Two
Alonsa pulled away from Hawk and walked to the kitchen window, staring out into the darkness but seeing nothing. She felt as if someone were scraping away the lining of her heart. The phone calls always had that effect on her.
The sound of breathing behind her was the only sign that Hawk was still in the room. She gathered her resolve slowly, giving her mind a chance to crawl out of the black abyss into which the call had sucked her. When she turned around, Hawk was only a few steps away, staring at her with concern etched into the lines of his face.
He leaned against the counter. “What’s with the phone call?”
“A cruel hoax. It sounds like Lucy’s voice, but it’s not her.”
His brows arched. “You sound sure of that.”
“If it is her, it’s a recording made right after she was abducted. She sounds exactly the same every time.”
“How often do you get these calls?”
“It varies. In the beginning they came every week or two. Then they slowed down to every few months, but they’ve picked up again over the last two months.”
“Do you have a tracer on your phone?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t help. The calls last only a few seconds and the ones they have been able to trace only match prepaid cell phones from locations all the way from Florida to California.”
“Strange. Where did the abduction take place?”
“In Houston.” Alonsa seldom talked to anyone about the abduction anymore, though it had been all she could talk about for the first year. But tonight the memories were razor sharp and the need to put them into words was suddenly all-consuming.
“Give me a minute to check on Brandon,” she said, “and I’ll tell you about it.” She paused. “But I should warn you. I still